


Spot Me

by Operamatic



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Also featuring a fancy gym's shower facilities ifyouknowwhatimean, F/M, Identity Reveal, Realizing You Want Your Crush To Snap You In Half With Their Thighs, The Long and Arduous Process of Emancipating Yourself From Your Terrible Dad, Weight Lifting, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Operamatic/pseuds/Operamatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he's going to be the face of his father's new menswear line, Adrien Agreste is going to have to put on some muscle.  Adrien sure wishes he'd had a say in this, but maybe a familiar face at the gym is just what he needs to get motivated.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, it's hard to stay focused when you're caught between over-enthusiastic trainers, belligerent akuma, long standing feelings of inadequacy, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng's biceps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do You Even Lift

“Adrien, you’re eighteen now.”

It was a simple statement with about as much emotion as a comment on the weather. Less, even. Adrien managed to wrench his gaze away from the limousine’s window to Nathalie, who hadn’t looked up from her tablet even to speak to him.

“Yes, Nathalie, my birthday was four months ago,” He said, managing to bite back his petulant follow-up, _Not that it matters to you._

“Your father has informed me that you’re to start attending regular weight training sessions. I’ve already made an appointment for you at The Klay.”

Adrien blinked, his face a rictus of confusion. Nathalie continued to type out another correspondence, apparently content with how the conversation had played out.  Somewhere inside his brain he heard the persistent yowling of a cat who’d had its tail stepped on one too many times.

“I’m sorry, what?” he managed to squeak out, jaw tight, adam’s apple bobbing impossibly high with the strain of practiced politeness, “Could you please elaborate?”

Nathalie sighed patiently, her shoulders sagging just a fraction before she met his gaze. He’d never seen Nathalie express much of anything to him, though he was certain she was human and therefore must have _some_ feelings. Right now she seemed resigned, if not a little beleaguered.

“Your father sent me a message just now. He wrapped up a meeting with your image consultant and the company’s PR Director this morning. It was decided that you're to be the face of the new Fall collection."  
  
“And I couldn’t have been _involved_ in this?!” Adrien interrupted, incredulous. It was the most he’d ever managed to raise his voice in front of his father’s assistant. Frustration shot from his ears down into the tips of his fingers and back, making him feel numb and hot.

Nathalie, to her credit, didn’t take offense. She raised her eyebrows, made a note, and continued.

“You were preoccupied with lessons this morning. Your father doesn’t expect you to shirk the responsibility of your education. You’ll be entering university soon, and it's been decided that your image will need renovation.”

“My...image.” Adrien repeated, weakly. His chest hurt.

“Yes, you’ve been playing the winsome teen for too long," her expression turned stern, gaze locking with his as she adjusted her glasses. "Really we should have made this shift two years ago but you were always popular with younger consumers. However, if you intend to make the transition to adult menswear, you’ll be expected to display more physical maturity. Hence the weight training.”

“I-I don’t see what’s wrong with me now!” he gestured at himself, “I’m already exercising five times a week, I have a dietician measuring every ounce of what I eat-”

_I’m also spending every free moment doing gymnastic heroics all across Paris. In a CATSUIT!_

“Yes, but you lack muscle definition,” Nathalie pulled up a few images from the latest Agreste campaign. As she swiped through the gallery, Adrien saw shot after shot of sculpted, athletic men. The majority of them were in the midst of unbuttoning their shirts, eyes leering seductively towards the camera, and Adrien balked at the thought of having to do the same.

“Th-there are plenty of models who don’t look like this,” he ran through a list of names, searching his memory desperately for someone in his age bracket.

“This isn’t haute couture, Adrien. Your father isn’t designing for supermodels,” Nathalie fixed him with a firm stare, “Agreste Fashion designs for the modern Parisian man. And if you’re going to front the next campaign, your father will need you looking like one.”

Adrien floundered, the tension in his body finally draining, giving way to disappointment. He flopped back into his seat with a quiet huff. It wasn’t that he hated the idea of menswear. Nor was he terribly opposed to weight training, though he didn’t see why he couldn’t do it at home.

He hadn’t been included. He hadn’t even been asked his opinion. Another year gone by, another birthday forgotten, another daily appointment in his schedule, another peg in the coffin of his independence.  

Was his whole life going to be plotted out in his father’s office?  His future meticulously written out in the fine print of a contract he’d never get to read?

Adrien glanced down at his hands, splayed out across the denim of his jeans. They were nice hands, he’d been told, large and elegant. They tapered into thin wrists, the slant of his bones evident under the skin. His arms were lithe, his shoulders broad, if a bit angular.  

For the last four years he’d been under the assumption that, of all things, his appearance was the one feature he needn’t feel inadequate about. Apparently, on the cusp of adulthood, that was no longer true.

Adrien had never felt smaller.

“Er….can I ask, why The Klay, specifically?” he ventured as the limo made it’s slow turn into the mansion’s driveway.

Nathalie looked up, surprise tempering her face as though she’d assumed he’d stew for the entirety of the drive.

“Your father had initially recommended The Ken Club, but I suggested that The Klay caters to young people specifically and you might enjoy the experience more.”

Despite the thoughtfulness, as minimal as it had been, Adrien’s smile felt tight, and his heart remained unmoving from the place where it had sunk.

 

* * *

 

“Something wrong, _minou_?” Ladybug asked him that evening from her lookout atop the leftmost spire of the Sacre Coeur. The basilica was bathed in the soft pinks and corals of the sunset, and the whole scene would have been romantic had Adrien not been sulking like a wet cat the entire time.

“With you here, my Lady?” he responded, bounding up from his crouch to grip the white stone of the spire and swing himself in front of her, blocking her view of the city with his overeager grin, “Never.”

This close, he could count the individual eyelashes that swept across her cheeks, soak in the way the smooth planes of her face stretched under her mask as she rolled her lovely eyes at him. She swung him back with a single finger and he let her, keeping his handhold and letting her push him in a near full circle around their perch.

“Oooh no, Chat Noir, you’re not fooling me, I know you too well.  A whole afternoon skulking through the CAT-acombs and not a single pun?” She smirked when his smile clamped in on itself, “Something’s up and you being distracted doesn’t help us catch that akuma.”

Adrien mentally kicked himself. They’d been tracking Papillon’s latest recruit, a fed up security guard for _Les Catacombes de Paris_ , and lost him underground. She’d been the one to suggest going up higher, to get a better view. She was the one still focused on their objective. He’d just been dead weight.

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, unable to meet her eyes, lips pursing slightly in a pout. “You don’t need to worry, it’s nothing.”

Her pretty features softened. The hand that had been poking him in the chest rose to fan out across his cheek, turning his gaze back to her. “Chat...you know you can talk to me, right?”

Adrien’s heart stuttered. How could he even begin? He placed his hand over hers, small and familiar and warm.

“I-”

“HAVE YOU NO RESPECT FOR THE CHURCH?” a voice boomed out from across the roof of the basilica.  

The security guard, now trussed up in a bone-armored uniform and calling himself The Gravedigger, stood on the opposite dome, swinging a femur-shaped nightstick and looking particularly scandalized.

“I spend ALL DAY catching rude teenagers like you desecrating my catacombs and now I have to see THIS?  I’m going to enjoy taking your Miraculouses!”

“Put a pin in that, kitty,” Ladybug broke away from him, unhooking her yo-yo.

“Why _do_ so many people try to make out in the catacombs anyway?” Adrien grimaced.  

“Probably the same reason they try to steal the skulls,” she replied, taking a running leap into the air. “Excitement!”

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes, fourteen terrible bone puns, one snapped nightstick, and a purified akuma later, the two of them were eating crepes behind the trademark facade of the Moulin Rouge.

This wasn’t a normal occurrence, but there’d been no need for a Lucky Charm, no insistent beep of their Miraculous to end the night. And perhaps, Adrien dared to hope, she actually was concerned enough to attempt to cheer him up.  

She’d suggested a talk, he’d suggested dinner and dancing, and the crepes were their happy compromise.

“Do you ever miss it during the day?” he ventured, enjoying the illicitly warm sensation of butter and sugar that his dietician would most definitely have forbidden.

“Miss what?” she replied, mid-chew.

“Having superpowers, I guess?  The Miraculous makes us faster, stronger. I mean, you snapped a femur in half over your knee-”

“It wasn’t a _real_ femur,” she rolled her eyes.

“Doesn’t matter!” he laughed back, “I can climb buildings like it’s nothing. I’ve seen you do more flips than every Olympics combined. If I recall correctly, you yo-yo’d a _hole_ into a _bus_ one time.”

She chuckled at this, popping the last bite of crepe into her mouth. Adrien tried (really he did try) not to stare as she ran a thumb across the corner of her mouth, checking for stray nutella.

“Is that what this is about? You feel like you’re not strong outside of the suit?” she said finally, resting a cheek in her palm as she glanced sidelong at him. He didn’t answer, just hummed low in his throat. Tomorrow he’d have to report to The Klay for his first appointment. The thought of going felt like a stone deep in his gut. But the thought of not going set part of his brain on fire with the myriad consequences he’d face for disobedience.  

Chat Noir could sneak around and fight off monsters single handed. Chat Noir could talk back and crack jokes and do whatever he liked, provided it ensured Paris’s safety.  

Adrien Agreste, though? Even with Plagg's ring on his finger, Adrien Agreste would always find himself on the end of an unbreakable leash.

“Actually...I started lifting weights.”

He blinked up out of his reverie. Ladybug’s voice was casual, her eyes trained forward. Was that red from the windmill reflecting off her pale skin, or the hint of a blush?

“A few years ago...I got tired of the change, you know?” she started, mulling over each word. “I didn’t want to feel like...like I couldn’t do anything when I’m not in the suit.”

She laughed at something in his expression, all bashful levity, “I mean, I’m never going to be able to do a quadruple backflip unless I’m covered in spots, but it feels...nice. It’s something I can control, something that I can keep getting better at. I’m kind of competitive that way.”

Adrien gulped, desperate to say something charming, equally desperate to hear her talk about herself like this. Naturally, she was already dusting herself off getting ready to leave when his idiot brain finally managed to reach his mouth.

“I don’t think you need to worry kitty, I’m sure you’re-”  
  
“How much?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him.

“How much...what?”

“Can you...lift?” Every part of him cringed. Ladybug gave him a pointed look, before fixing him with a wicked grin. She barely paused before striding forward with purpose, squatting down next to him, hooking her hands under his knees and shoulders, and hoisting him up without so much as a grunt.

“Hmph,” she said, sounding almost disappointed, “I wish the suit didn’t make this so easy,”

Adrien didn’t respond, he was too busy curling in on himself, hands cupping his cheeks as he tried not to giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Let’s just say,” she snorted, unceremoniously dropping him back to his feet, “That I’m currently benching one Chat Noir.”

She patted his head afterwards, telling him not to worry so much, before zipping out into the night. The exchange was largely lost on Adrien, who was too busy remembering the steady swell of Ladybug’s arms firm against his body, eyes glazing over as he imagined what they might look like when they were bare.

 

* * *

 

The Klay proved to be just as lavish and ostentatious as Adrien was expecting. The structure was an ultra-modern playground; the upper level a lattice of skylights and equipment, the basement home to a Turkish bath, with lounges dotted throughout. The whole of it made him feel like he’d stepped into a hotel rather than a gym, were it not for the sheer amount of attractive people running around in exercise clothes.

“As you can imagine, we have a very limited membership policy,” his guide explained, pointing out the various rooms and facilities. “You’ll never have to wait for a machine M. Agreste, and I can guarantee a trainer will always be available to supervise you,"

“Wow, great,” he mumbled, already slotting together possible excuses to feed his trainer should he ever need to slip away for emergency heroism.

“Showers are privately assigned, so no need to worry about sharing,” the guide continued unimpeded, “And naturally we have a five star restaurant on the premises,”

 _Naturally_ , Adrien quipped to himself, caught between marvel and disdain at the sheer expense of the place.

It was in one of the lounges that he ended up waiting, the guide skittering away to coordinate his first consultation. Adrien dejectedly slid deeper into the plush chair, sorely wishing he was anywhere else. It was Saturday morning, he could’ve been out with his friends. Nino was likely checking movie times, making plans to meet their classmates for a matinee before going to an arcade, perhaps even a night out. Or maybe he’d tagged along to go shopping, walking the Champs Elysees with Alya and -

“Adrien?”

It took him a moment to recognize the voice, for his brain to make sense of _that_ voice in _this_ place. He shot up in his seat, eyes whipping around to finally settle on the person who’d called out to him.

“Marinette?!”

He probably shouldn’t have sounded so surprised. For one, he’d only seen her a few weeks ago. Even though they were in different streams at the lycée, he still managed to see her during breaks and the rare weekend he spent with Nino and their friends. The last he’d seen Marinette she’d been listing the various components required in her design portfolio, and fretting at the stress of final assessments.

At the time, he’d placed a hand on her shoulder, assuring her of her talent and skill. It was true, a fact that anyone would agree with, but Marinette had smiled at him warmly like it was the biggest compliment she’d ever received.

And that was Marinette. She was sweet, compassionate, a little awkward, but also energetic and determined. Adrien appreciated that about her, he enjoyed her company.  Marinette existed in his life as a small beacon of normalcy, perpetually pastel and soft.

The Marinette that stood before him was anything but soft.

The Marinette that stared back at him, surprise freezing her in place, was _shredded._

In the seconds of silence that spread out between them, Adrien took in the way Marinette bobbed from one foot to the other in her brightly colored trainers, the way the thick muscles in her calves and thighs tensed while she did this. He felt a blush rise up his neck when he registered that her stomach was bare, and that underneath the cute, finely-tailored clothes he’d always seen her in was a wall of well-defined muscle.

True to form her top was pink like most of her wardrobe, but it was a neon thing, violently bright against her bare shoulders. It was around that time that Adrien’s brain was earnestly telling him to say _literally anything_ , but it was hard to formulate words when the entire world seemed to revolve around the solid curvature of this girl's biceps.

Had Marinette’s arms always looked like that?

“You’re...here?” he managed to blurt out. Luckily Marinette didn’t hear it because she’d started speaking at the same time as him.

“You gym?!” she squeaked, then shook her head, “I mean, you uh...you’re a mym gember, ack - a gym member?” At this she groaned, smacking her forehead.

Adrien couldn’t help but smile. Marinette occasionally tripping over her words was familiar territory, and he could work with that. He stood and moved closer, hands in his pockets.

“I’m starting today. Honestly I’m not really thrilled about it,” he chose his words carefully, not wanting to worry her or, worse, come across as snobbish. “I’m not used to working out in public, it’s…intimidating.”

“Oh!” she said, smiling helpfully, “Well don’t worry, this place is lovely, really top notch!” she pumped her fist in the air for emphasis. Awkwardness rolled away from them like a sigh, replaced by pleasant camaraderie. This was his friend. This was Marinette. Just because she looked a little different didn’t change who she was.

“Marinette, I don’t want to be rude but...how are you here?” Adrien glanced around, encompassing the entire spa and all its regalia. For the first time he was glad he wasn’t privy to the company expenses.

Marinette’s smile turned sly, “Would you believe it? I won a radio contest! A full year, free of charge, I can’t believe my luck!”

Adrien could. Marinette was preternaturally good at contests and games of chance. He’d never seen someone win so many claw games before. Continuing on at her usual breakneck pace, Marinette listed off on her fingers the benefits of her prize, which included most of the amenities in the spa.

“I don’t get to work with a trainer though, I guess they’re on some kind of commission?”

She took that precise moment to turn her head, glancing over at the front desk, and Adrien had to stifle a swallow at the way the smooth muscles that connected her neck and shoulders stretched slightly under the skin. He didn’t know what was worse: the sudden realization that Marinette could probably break him in half, or the fact that some part of him coiled down at the base of his spine desperately _wanted_ her to.

The remembered sensation of Ladybug’s strong arms came unbidden to his mind and Adrien fought the urge to punch himself.

Here he was ogling a school friend when he’d spent the last four years declaring undying devotion to a literal super-heroine. Was he really so disloyal? Did it even count as infidelity if you hadn’t even done anything, if you weren’t even technically involved with either of the people in question? Either way, in that moment Adrien wished more than anything that he could sink into the floor.

“Adrien? Are you alright?” Marinette looked up at him, concern knotting in the space between her eyebrows. He rocked back a little, eyes trying to focus on anything other than the sculpted edges of Marinette’s shoulders.

“I uh...I guess I’m just...still a bit nervous,” he looked up to see a trainer walking towards them, waving a clipboard. _I wish I’d had a choice in this_ , sat thick on his tongue, but he didn’t risk it. The last thing Marinette needed to deal with was his emotional baggage.

“You? You’ll be fine!” she chirped, spotting the trainer and taking a step away. That beaming smile returned, pinching at the corners of her eyes. She kept talking, taking jaunty steps backwards even as she started to babble again, “And I’m uh...I’m always here! For you, that is, not I mean...not here specifically, but I am here...a lot…”

She scratched the back of her head sheepishly and waved. Adrien waved back, a sliver of tension unknotting inside him at her words. At least he had a friend here.

The trainer patted him suddenly on the back, giving him a smile that was just a shade too big, his teeth unnervingly white.

“Alright M. Agreste, I’m Luc, let’s get started!”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	2. Don't Hurt Yourself

_Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all._  

* * *

 

Adrien hated this.

With every fiber of his being he hated this.  The last hour had been a nonstop barrage of exertion, and currently he was stuck in the maw of a ghastly weight machine, limbs contorted around its various moving parts.

“COME ON, WORK THOSE TRAPS!” Luc shouted overenthusiastically, crouched right beside Adrien’s ear.  Adrien let out a wheeze as he started another rep.  He wasn’t even entirely sure what a trap was but at this point he wanted it surgically removed.

He’d probably not be the first to admit it, but Adrien was really rather shy.  He’d spent the majority of his life acquiescing to other people, avoiding confrontation, and biting his tongue when anything too acerbic came to mind.  Generally a good instructor caught onto this and adjusted both for the sake of his progress and that of the hefty sum they were getting paid.

What this meant was that he’d worked with plenty of tutors who’d all managed to take into account that Adrien Agreste responded well to soft voices, succinct criticism, and calm encouragement.

“I’M NOT SEEING ENOUGH SWEAT!” Luc’s voice beat against Adrien’s brain like a raucous drum.  Maybe this technique worked for his other clients, but with each passing minute Adrien could only feel frustration and shame prickling behind his eyes.

Every inch of him burned. This never happened when he was transformed. When he was Chat Noir it felt like gravity was just a suggestion, like breathing was something he could put on hold while he leapt over avenues and sprinted along rooftops.

Now though, every breath ripped through him like hot molten metal. His lungs ached, his body ached, more than anything his heart ached. The muscle’s rapid staccato against his ribcage was like a constant reminder that his best was never going to be good enough.

“Can we please take a break?” he gasped out as he finished the set.  Luc was ticking something off on his clipboard, running through a list of pre-selected tasks, smile still plastered across his face.  His unflappable positivity was starting to grate on Adrien.

“Sure thing kiddo,” a nerve twitched under Adrien’s cheek at that, “Take five and then we’re switching to free weights!  You’re gonna _love_ it.”

He had to get out of here.

Adrien made a beeline to the locker room, arms and legs trembling all the while.  While members were assigned private showers on another level, the lockers were set up next to the main floor for convenience.  Even in spite of the constantly whirring air conditioning and scented freshener pumped in every few seconds, the sour undercurrent of sweat and soiled clothes was unmistakable.

He laid a head against the side of his locker, fingers numbly fiddling with the combination lock until the catch finally released.

“About time, I’m _famished!_ ”

True to form, Plagg was reclining on a pile of Adrien’s street clothes like a miniature throne, a paw touched to his forehead dramatically in near-Shakespearean agony.

“I left a whole wheel of camembert for you,” Adrien grumbled back, too weary to joke or argue. He reached for his phone, checking to see how much longer he had left in this torture chamber.

“Only one wheel!” Plagg floated up dejectedly, settling on the crown of Adrien’s head and rolling around on his back, “That’s hardly an afternoon snack, you want me to starve! And the smell of this place isn’t helping either!”

“It smells like moldy socks in here,” Adrien replied. Plagg responded with a wail.

“I _know!!!_ Odor odor everywhere but not a bite to eat!”

He slid down Adrien’s bangs, hanging upside down and drawing his eyes away from the phone and numerous emails from Nathalie detailing his new fitness regimen.

“You know, we could always, oooh I don’t knowwww,” Plagg tilted his head side to side as he dragged out an obviously premeditated speech, “Sneak out the window, jump a few rooftops, and go to a movie down the street instead.”

“Are you actually _asking_ me to transform into Chat Noir? You’re never this eager when there’s an akuma on the loose,” Adrien tried to give Plagg a firm glare but only succeeded in making his eyes cross.

“I’m _desperate!_ ” Plagg flipped off Adrien’s hair and landed with a thump onto his phone screen, “This place is terrible and _you_ hate it and _I’m_ forced to hide in a dark locker with nothing shiny or delicious to occupy my time! Even the Bastille wasn’t this bad!”

Adrien rolled his eyes. He could practically hear the cadenza Plagg was playing on the world’s smallest violin.

“It doesn’t matter if I hate it,” Adrien plucked Plagg off his phone by the scruff of his neck, raising him to eye level, “Father needs me to do this, so I have to do it.”

“That’s not a reason at all!” Plagg huffed, zipping back into the locker to pout. As he nestled into the hollow off one of Adrien’s shirtsleeves, he threw a narrowed glare at the boy towering above him.

“And what’s that look for?” Adrien sighed, tilting his head in exasperation. Plagg was a bit of a trial sometimes, but against his better judgement Adrien actually did care about his kwami’s feelings. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to be on bad terms.

“If you asked _me_ ,” Plagg arched an eyebrow as he preened, “I’d say the only person who can make you do anything is you. But what do _I_ know, I’m only an ancient eons-old magical being, obviously _you_ know what’s best.”

With a flick of his little tail, Plagg burrowed deeper into the garment, commenting on his need for beauty sleep, and effectively ended the conversation.

Adrien closed the door a little dejectedly, a bitter feeling sitting high in his throat. He murmured a quiet “See you later, Plagg,” before walking back towards the gym and Luc’s unbearable chipperness.

He took his time, pausing in the long hallway once or twice as he contemplated racing back to the locker, yanking Plagg out of his shirt, and taking him up on his offer of escape. But every time he felt himself turned back towards his destination, guilt settling on his shoulder like a guiding hand exactly the dimensions and weight of his father’s.

Dimly, Adrien became aware of a familiar song being piped in over the spa radio just as he came up to the open entry to the weight room. He recalled suddenly that Nino had introduced it to him in the form of a rather salacious music video, featuring a popular American singer that Adrien most certainly would never have been allowed to listen to at home.

He’d never much cared for pop music, but Adrien had to admit he liked this song, especially since it veered more towards a rock sound. Before attending public school Adrien had never really paid attention to current music. His father only seemed to approve of classical selections, his mother (before her disappearance) had been a fan of musicals. But things were different now, and Adrien had found himself opening up, finding his own tastes, especially since that first Jagged Stone concert he’d attended with-

Adrien froze.

There are moments that, in retrospect, are so improbable in their convergence of elements they can only be defined as fated. As the first palpitations of a cymbal gave way to the steady pulse of a bass drum, and the singer’s throaty voice rolled over the room, a memory came unbidden to Adrien’s mind.

Sitting in the quad of their _lycee_ , Nino’s tablet held between them, Nino had pointed at the American popstar, paused mid-strut as she shucked a heavy fur coat.

“I want her to step on me, man.”

“Pff, what?!” Adrien barked, laughing at Nino’s stoic, utterly sincere expression. To his credit, Nino hadn’t been offended, merely shrugged and fixed his friend with a bemused half-smile.

“Look man, I’m not saying it’s logical, but sometimes you just see a person and think to yourself, ‘If they wanted to step on my throat I’d probably roll over and say thank you.’”

“I dunno, Nino, that might just be you,” Adrien had quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Give it time, bud,” was his only response.

Rocketing back to the present, swaying unevenly on feet firmly rooted to the ground, Adrien thought he finally understood what Nino meant.

Marinette was in the weight room.

 _Marinette_ was in the weight room, standing squarely in front of a barbell with weights on either end that were _larger than her head_. She had a resolute look on her face, gloved hands raised to  tighten the tie that held back her hair. She rolled her shoulders. She breathed.

Then, almost in perfect time with a squealing electric guitar lick, she crouched, back straight and legs apart, and hoisted the barbell up to her chest. What followed, from Adrien’s perspective, were 10 agonizing seconds wherein Marinette lifted the barbell above her head with smooth, practiced ease and every muscle in her arms, shoulders, back, and stomach all rippled in perfect clockwork harmony.

Her biceps bulged with minor exertion, her abs trembled minutely as she exhaled, and then she let the barbell drop.

It landed with a loud clang that startled Adrien so much he had to take a step back, nearly biting his tongue. He realized his mouth had been hanging open. When had he stopped breathing?

Marinette, meanwhile, bounced on the balls of her feet giddily. A few people around her cheered, commenting on the precision of her form. Her face flushed a rosy pink and she wiped away a thin trickle of sweat from her temple with the back of her hand, glancing over towards the doorway.

The aforementioned rosy blush bloomed into a violent crimson when she caught sight of Adrien. For a split second he reached up to touch his own face, worried that it was the same shade if not worse.

Marinette’s previous confidence, which had seemed to fill the room, fizzled and contracted down until she was tucked into herself, legs going slightly knock-kneed as she glanced around at the floor, the barbell, the mirrors on the far end of the room - anything but Adrien’s face.

He felt like a heel. Obviously he’d embarrassed her with his staring. The memory of Luc’s critical gaze boring holes into the side of his head, the overwhelming self-consciousness of it, was enough to make Adrien wince in empathy.

“Sorry! I just-” he said as he stumbled forward into the room. He desperately wanted to put her at ease again, but only seemed to set her off into a jumble of half-started exclamations.

“A-A-Adrien! You...um! You saw - I weighted the lifts - LIFTED THE WEIGHTS and you - UM?!”

She rocked back a little on her heels, caught it seemed between fleeing and standing her ground. The effect was such that, as he approached, her upper half leaned back comically at the waist while her feet continued their nervous shuffle.

“I was walking past and couldn’t help - I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!” Adrien bit his lip, hands clenching nervously in front of him. At that she blanched, color draining from her face as her body snapped upright.

“NO! Oh no no, you aren’t rude at all, I was just-” she took a step towards him, hands splayed placatingly, eyes trained frantically on his face and not on the barbell that had been resting on the ground directly in front of her.

Her foot caught on the bar and she yelped, suddenly careening forward.

Without thinking, Adrien rushed forward and gripped her arms. She tumbled face first into his chest with a squeak, both of their knees buckling so that they leaned into each other in a half-crouch. If he’d had the time to muse, Adrien might have noted that this was a familiar scene. Back when they’d been in the same class he had always seemed to be right in her crash zone, and thankfully his quick reflexes had saved her from many nasty spills.

But that had been a couple years ago, before they’d begun attending _lycee_ and started on their advanced courses in separate streams. Before Marinette had developed a pair of firm biceps that fit so perfectly into Adrien’s palms that he felt his stomach turn upside down.

“Uh…” Adrien swallowed heavily, doing his best to keep his hands from squeezing those thick swells of Marinette’s arms, “Y-you ok?”

Despite the fact that his voice seemed to have been pitched an octave higher, or the fact that she’d just gotten a faceful of his sweat-stained shirt, the look on Marinette’s face when she glanced up and nodded at him was hardly upset. With her chin just barely grazing the fabric of his shirt, blue eyes wide and unblinking, lips slightly parted so that he could just see the barest glimmer of her teeth, it seemed the whole of Marinette’s concentration had somehow narrowed to a pinpoint spot behind Adrien’s eyes, coiling around his brain as if to spur him forward. If Adrien had to give it a word it would be-

Anticipation.

She was waiting for him to do something.

“I uh...you,” he began, carefully helping her upright. He held her at arm’s length, her eyes still boring holes into him. He wondered if she could feel his palms sweating on her arms. He cleared his throat, glancing down at the floor before continuing, “You uh...you lift weights good.”

Well that was certainly _something_.

He chanced a look at her face. Marinette tensed in surprise, made kind of squeaking noise in the back of her throat, before a cute, goofy smile made its way across her mouth.

“Oh! Oh nononono I’m not that...I’m still learning, I have a long way to go I’m um, really it’s not that impressive!” She fidgeted, twiddling her thumbs together before quickly shoving her bangs out of her face. All the while though she smiled, a giddy kind of pride welling up under her flushed face that Adrien couldn’t help but be infected by.

“Not impressive?!” he blurted out, a laugh bubbling under it, “Marinette it was _amazing!_ ”

Three years ago Marinette might have continued to disagree with him, might have downplayed herself and rocketed away in an attempt to avoid further attention. But a few years in advanced courses, more junior designing awards than anyone else in their district, and a seemingly secret reserve of self-confidence seemed temper those urges in this moment.

So instead of flinching away from him, to his surprise, Marinette puffed out her chest (which Adrien very pointedly avoided looking at) set her hands on her hips, and giggled.

“I guess I looked pretty cool, huh?”

“The coolest,” he smiled back, happy to see her so pleased with herself, “I’m pretty sure that barbell weighs more than I do.”

“Oh I _know_ it does,” she glowered at the offending barbell, “Who knows, maybe next time you trip over something, I’ll be the one to catch you!”

Adried laughed at that. Marinette joined him. For a blissful moment it felt good. Being with Marinette in this place felt natural, laughing into their hands as though he hadn’t spent the last hour desperately wishing he were someone else.

Right now there was no one else he’d rather be.

“Maybe you can fireman carry me out of here when I collapse from exhaustion,” he mused, glancing guiltily at the clock. His five minute break had ended ten minutes ago.

“You’re working with one of the trainers right?” She asked, eyebrows knitting together, “They’re a bit intense, but I’m sure if you talk to them they’ll help you set a good pace.”

“Oh, that...I mean, I guess I just need to get used to doing things this way,” Adrien shoved his hands in his pockets. The idea of trying to get Luc or anyone like him to slow down from his pre-approved training regimen seemed an impossible feat, especially if they were following his father’s orders. “The training here is nothing like when I was in fencing,” he continued, “We focused on speed and stamina, not…” he gestured around to the room at large, “It just feels really...severe.”

He tried to avoid Marinette’s gaze, worried that he might be coming across as juvenile, but instead she stepped forward and reached out tentatively, before placing a hand on his elbow.

“You shouldn’t overexert yourself,” she began, worry plain in her voice, “And don’t let anyone pressure you into doing what you don’t want to.”

The concern on her face, as well as the warmth of her hand, was a welcome comfort, even if he couldn’t help but disagree. He wasn’t being pressured, was he? He was just doing what was expected of him, what was best for the company, for his career, for his father.

Wasn’t he?

“Yo, kiddo!”

Luc’s ebullient voice resounded through the room, and Adrien barely bit back the groan that sought its way out of his throat. He couldn’t escape the man.

Luc wound his way through the other occupants of the weight room, coming up and settling an over-familiar arm across Adrien’s shoulders. If he noticed how his client tensed at this, he didn’t show any recognition on his face.

“Time to get back to work, _mon ami_ ,” he grinned eagerly, glancing over at Marinette with barely a nod, “You can catch up later, right now we’re on the clock!”

Adrien gave Marinette a small, disappointed shrug as Luc gingerly steered him back towards the exit.

“Oh, Adrien wait!” she called out, running up and tugging him away by the arm. Adrien didn’t miss the way Luc’s nose wrinkled at this, but the other man said nothing, instead glancing impatiently between the clock and his clipboard.

“Listen,” she whispered, standing up on tiptoes to better reach his ear, “If...if you’re still having trouble on Monday, I’ll be here in the morning. Maybe...I could give you some tips?”

She said it meekly, as though she was bracing herself for his polite rejection as she lowered herself back onto her heels. Instead Adrien reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it affectionately.

“That would be amazing, Marinette, thank you,” he whispered, pouring all the sincerity he could into his words. He meant it, he really did. So far she had been the only thing to enjoy about this place, and Adrien reasoned, if he had to be here, at least he’d be able to spend a little time with someone who made it bearable.

“I…” she started, waving sheepishly as he retreated back towards Luc and whatever horrors awaited him on the exercise floor, “Pro noblem er- I mean n-no prob...okay.”

 

* * *

 

“You look like you got hit by a truck, _Minou_.”

Adrien groaned.

In his time as Chat Noir, he’d made a point to catalogue the limitations of his, admittedly, ill-defined magical girl-esque powers.

Plagg’s ring and its myriad effects could make him extremely strong and agile, gave him inhuman senses, protected him from fatal injuries, and generally made it so that anything inflicted on superhero Chat Noir would not be transferred to Parisian teen Adrien Agreste.

What he’d also learned though, was that he was not immune to certain things filled under “pre-existing condition”, such as an allergy to feathers or broken bone sustained in civilian form.

Which meant that even after transforming and heading to his usual patrol position for the night, Adrien was still experiencing the worst full-body soreness of his life.

It had been a full day since his first session with Luc, with another set for tomorrow, and Adrien was still having trouble staying upright. He’d barely been able to hold his toothbrush that morning, and every time he moved something seemed to twinge, pop, or spasm. This meant that vaulting up to the top of the Arc de Triomphe tonight had been less of a casual leap and more like a series of poorly calculated faceplants. In the end he’d dragged himself up the stairs like a pedestrian, and even that had been agony.

And now Ladybug was standing over him, head cocked to the side, observing him as he lay prone with his face pressed into the stone of the building. There was no way to act cool in this situation.

“What on Earth happened to you?” She knelt down and prodded his shoulder with a finger.

“Can we skip the explanation and cut to the part where you kiss it better?” He whined, rolling over with a whimper to lay on his back and better look at her.

“Cute, but it looks like you need a gurney more than kisses-”

“I’ll take both if you’re offering.”

“-and I certainly _hope_ an akuma didn’t do this,” she continued unimpeded, lifting up his arm as if to inspect it. The joint at his elbow popped like a firecracker and he yowled.

“No no I just...I’m doing something new, you know during the day,” he winced, sidling up onto his elbows, “It’s uh...a necessary evil.”

“Chat,” she sat down cross-legged next to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, “Please tell me you’re not in a Fight Club.”

“What!? NO!”

“Ok, so that means you’re on some kind of dumb aggro workout, right?” She clucked, shaking her head with a bemused smile, “ _Boys._ ”

Adrien allowed himself a pout. Maybe if he were in less pain he’d have tried to play suave, even compliment her on figuring him out so easily, but he felt after all he’d been put through he deserved a good grumble.

“You’re cruel, My Lady,” he quivered his lower lip, putting on the most kitten-like expression he could muster, “ _Tres mé-chat_.”

She smirked at his pun, reaching out scratch him behind the ear, “That’s _méchant_ , and if you’re well enough to joke then you’re not getting out of hero duty.” He leaned into her touch in spite of himself, whining a little when she stopped and stood to go.

“I don’t know how much use I’ll be,” he said from his place on the floor, “You’d probably be better off without me dragging you down.”

He’d meant for it to be cavalier, but the way she looked down at him nearly broke his heart. Her nose scrunched up, her lips pursed. Her eyes, sharp and laser-focused, narrowed with purpose and she crouched down again, but this time leaned in so they were nearly nose to nose.

“You’re _not_ a burden, Chat Noir,” she said firmly, jaw squared and defiant, “And if anyone, including you says otherwise they have to answer to _me_.”

The overall effect was simultaneously adorable and terrifying, and if there’d been any doubt of his affections in his mind before, it was swiftly smashed to pieces but the way she sighed, grim expression melting into fond exasperation.

“ _Minou minou minou_ ,” she shook her head, taking both his leaden arms in hand and standing up, “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well,” he observed, watching with interest as she tugged him up into a sitting position, “Right now it kind of looks like you’re going to drag me across this roof.”

“Not yet. Take a deep breath,” she said calmly, before bracing her feet against his splayed legs and pulling. A symphony of pops echoed up his spine as she pulled him upwards, the muscles along his back, ribs, and arms all stretching in unison towards her. He yelped, inhaled deeply, and exhaled as she gave him slack. An tingling echoed deep in his bones as she repeated the stretch, counting to ten under her breath before releasing him again.

“When you’re this sore you need to stretch! The reason you’re hearing all those cracks is probably because you spent all day lying around. Did you even bother to do any stretches this morning?” she chided as she continued to manipulate him every which way like a leather-clad puppet. She moved behind him and gently bent him side to side, encouraging him to breathe into the pained musculature and release the tension stored up in his body.

“Are you working out alone or at a gym?” She asked while rotating one of his arms and loosening the tightness around the socket, “You really ought to have someone spotting you if you’re doing anything really serious, is there no one who can help you out?”

“Well uh there is...one person, a friend from school,” Adrien’s throat felt tight suddenly, remembering his earlier conversation with Marinette. He coughed and looked away from where Ladybug sat, “She’s way better at this stuff than me though, I don’t want to bother her.”

“Ooh a girl?” Ladybug’s voice became teasing, cloyingly sweet, “And she offered to help you? What’s she like?”

“Well she...she’s very…”

_Muscular. Funny. Sweet. Hot._

“...kind,” he was certain he was blushing now. He hoped the mask was covering most of it but doubted he was that lucky, “But she’s awkward around me...not unfriendly, but I feel like she doesn’t know how to talk to me sometimes. I think I make her uncomfortable? Or maybe she thinks I’m judging her, I’m not sure.”

“Pff,” Ladybug dropped his arm and moved to his other side. Compared to her earlier teasing her face seemed a bit more focused, a little less playful, “In my own experience? It sounds like she’s got a crush on you.”

Adrien squawked.

“W-w-what!?” he gaped at her, bouncing up and down slightly while she continued to shake out his arm, “W-what do you mean your own experience?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, nosy kitty,” she raised an eyebrow at him, “But sometimes when a girl likes someone she can get...nervous. Maybe she’s so awkward because she’s so busy worrying that you might not like her back.”

A small flicker of hurt flared in his gut at that. Ladybug was never like that with him. Sure he’d seen her get nervous or worried when civilians were in danger, or maybe even get a little star-struck the few times he’d talked to her out of costume (not that he held it against her).

But bashful? Awkward? Over a boy? He couldn’t imagine it.

“So…” he rallied, the gears in his brain grasping to come up with a viable out for him, “Is that how you act? Around boys you like?”

The unamused look she gave him made his hairs stand on end.

“Who me?” she grinned wickedly before bending his arm behind his back and stretching his deltoids taut, effectively silencing him.

He probably should have been annoyed at the way she was manhandling him, he certainly would have been if Luc or anyone else had attempted it. But the gentle press of Ladybug’s palms against his shoulder blades, urging him forward before running her fingers delicately along his vertebrae was like something out of his fantasies.

When she hooked her elbows under his armpits and tugged his arms back, bringing his back flush against her chest in the process, it released a tight knot that had been sitting atop the center of his sternum, but as far as Adrien was concerned he could have easily mistaken it for his heart bursting.

“How’re you feeling now?” She asked a few minutes later, rolling her shoulders a few times once she’d managed to coax him up to standing.

“I’m pretty sure you made my soul leave my body, Buginette,” he all but drooled.

“Well come back to Earth, Kitty, we have work to do,” she snorted, tapping him on the nose, “And don’t call me Buginette.”

He probably should have left it at that, should have accepted what she’d given him without complaint, but Adrien felt a small surge of selfishness propel him forward to catch her wrist.

“Thank you,” he said, uncharacteristically timid for Chat Noir, before bringing her hand up to his lips and kissing her knuckles reverently, “Really, My Lady, I appreciate it.”

She stared up at him, nonplussed, eyes searching his, before she politely took her hand back. He didn’t offer any resistance, though he did notice the way the fingers of her other hand came up to glance along the place where his lips had been.

“This girl…” she started, eyes flicking up towards him and away, then back again to catch his gaze resolutely, “Does she actually know what she’s doing?”

“I...I think so?” he responded, taken aback, “Why?”

“I just...don’t let her push you around or...or do anything irresponsible just to get closer to you,” Ladybug’s nose scrunched up and she shifted on her feet, arms crossing as if to better convince herself of what she was saying, “And don’t let her um...take advantage of you just because she’s spotting you.”

Adrien stared at her. His ears, the cat ones, flicked a few times, whatever magic that animated them catching the almost imperceptible way she swallowed, the way her heart seemed to patter just a hair faster than normal.

Joy, buoyant and shimmering, filled the whole of his body.

“Are you _jealous?!”_ he all but squealed. Ladybug reeled back, mouth dropping open aghast. The fact that she seemed unable to respond or look him in the eye all but proved it.

Adrien brought his hands up to his mouth in glee, bouncing up and down like he’d just been told the juiciest secret, and in a way he had.

“You _are,_ you’re jealous, you’re jealous!!!”

“I...you...I’m...not...I’m just...” She blustered, “S-stop giggling!”

“My Lady!” he threw a hand against his forehead, the other settling atop his heart, “Why didn’t you tell me of your burning desire for me?”

“UGH!” she threw her hands up, swinging her yo-yo at the nearest parapet and securing the line, “ _I_ am going on _my_ patrol route. You can have the OTHER half of Paris tonight.”

“Anything you say, Buginette!” he trilled, blowing her a kiss as she swung away.

“DON’T CALL ME BUGINETTE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just gotta let it be let it be let it be baby.
> 
> Thanks for your patience guys, I promise the wait for the next chapter won't be so long.

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I know realistically he'd probably be quite well-built as a male model, I am an ardent lover of the image of waifish beanpole Adrien Agreste. I am also an equal lover of tiny tank Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and the two go very well together in my mind.
> 
> The Ken Club and the Klay are real places, and from what I can find out they are just as stupidly elegant and expensive as you might expect. It should also bear mentioning that I am not a weightlifter and know literally nothing about fitness as evidenced by how few squats I can actually manage to do, so please take my shambling attempts at describing exercise with a grain of salt.
> 
> For all you visual learners out there, Marinette's physique is heavily inspired by gymnast-turned-weightlifter Samantha Wright: http://bzfd.it/1M3K3UO
> 
> Sidebar: I promised myself when I started this as a freewrite that I wouldn't put akuma fights into it. TAKE A WILD GUESS WHAT HAPPENED????


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